


Mixed Signals

by FandomLifeTookMyHandAndSaidRUN



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Or how to tag this, Rickyl Writers' Group March Madness 2019, i have no idea what i am doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-25 14:19:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18263075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomLifeTookMyHandAndSaidRUN/pseuds/FandomLifeTookMyHandAndSaidRUN
Summary: When a two-way radio starts acting strangely, is it a technical malfunction, or something more?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Someone mentioned Rick, and how we heard Andy’s voice over the radio in the episode where Tyreese died. Which got the wheels turning in my mind... We, the fans of TWD, know Rick is still alive. Daryl clearly has not accepted Rick is ‘dead’ and gone because there’s no body, no closure. (Hims a smart man!) So... what if Rick managed to escape wherever he was taken to and is trying to get home? Trying to find out if it’s safe, if there’s even anything left to come back to? I hope before this godawful show comes to its ultimate conclusion, they let Rick get back to his family. But we can’t have nice things in this fandom, so here’s a 500 word opportunity for TWD to start to make things right.

“Hey boss?” One of the night watchman called out to Daryl as he made his final rounds around the compound for the night.  “Think we’re losing this radio. It keeps crackling.”

 

Daryl grumbled to himself.  Equipment was getting tired and as as much as they relied on two-way radio for communication, there was no way to repair or easily replace them as they wore out and eventually died.

 

“Lemme see that thing then,” Daryl held a hand out to catch the radio as the man dropped it down from his perch atop the wall.

 

Daryl fiddled with the knobs and buttons, everything appeared to be just fine. And then he heard it.  Faint, but it was there. Easily could have been mistaken for feedback, or static but it was too rhythmic. It wasn’t at all organic.  Minutes passed and he heard another set of clicks and static.

 

“How often this been happenin’?” Daryl called out.

 

“Past several days, but tonight there’s been more of it. Want me to have Eugene put it on our list for the next run? See if we can find replacements?”

 

“Nah… I’ll handle it.”  Daryl pocketed the radio and took off at a fast pace toward the office.  He grabbed the nearest scrap of paper and a pencil, and sat. Waiting for the next set of sounds to come through.

 

_ Static, click click. _

 

Nearly two minutes later,  _ click click. _

 

And two minutes after that,  _ static click click static. _

 

_ Static, static, static… _

 

_ Static, click… _

 

The hair on the back of his neck rose, and his skin prickled with realization of what was coming through.

 

Morse code.

 

**Dixon** .

 

Someone was calling him out. But who? And why? Was this another game?  The Whisperers? Negan? Some new evil? Morse code was so rarely used, it was a wonder he even remembered it at all.

 

His mind ran through a myriad of thoughts. Who was out behind the walls? Did someone need help? Was it a warning from one of the other communities? He raked his hands through his hair, unsure immediately how to handle the current situation.  

 

The radio came to life once again, repeating the sounds. Every two minutes, with 5 minute breaks in between. There was no mistaking what it was, and that it was meant for him.

 

“Who is this?” He growled low into the radio, waiting for a response.  When none came he had half the mind to smash the radio down against the desk.  But what good would that be? If someone was trying to get through to them…

 

_ Click, static. _

 

_ Static. _

 

_ Click, static, click click. _

 

_ Click, static. _

 

Daryl wrote out the letters as he listened along to the painfully slow set of ‘noise.’  He couldn’t breathe, his chest went tight, the pencil fell from his hands.

 

_ Atlanta. _

 

“Rick?” One word, that’s all he spoke into the radio.  It was all he could muster, his blood running cold as it raced through his veins.

 

_ Static, click, static, static. _

 

_ Click. _

 

_ Click, click, click. _

 

**Yes** **_._ **

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl reacts to this shocking news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ask, and ye shall receive.
> 
> Still keeping with the 500 word count mini March Madness challenge. I do believe there will also be a 3rd chapter.

Daryl gasped, his eyes burned with unshed tears of… relief, wonder, joy. At the same time he tried to tamp it down, because who knew if this was really Rick for certain? Daryl didn’t doubt the man himself, he just knew the unimaginable levels of human depravity and the willingness to challenge what was perceived as rock bottom.

 

His hands shook with the rush of adrenaline.  Where was Rick? Was he close? He had to be if he was in range of the radios. But close by what standards? A couple days walk? Was he injured? A bounty of questions raced through his head. But he boiled it down to one simple question, and the hope that he and Rick could still communicate on a near psychic level.

 

_ Click static static, click click click click, click, click static click, click. _

 

**_Where?_ **

 

Impatiently he awaited a response.  Whatever place they chose to meet up, it had to be known to only them. Going back to Georgia was not an option.  He thought of the runs he had gone on with Rick, the places they visited while searching for supplies were too close to the road.  They needed the cover of darkness to travel, and the ability to stay hidden while they waited for each other to get there.

 

_ Static click click click _ ,  _ click static, click static click, static click. _

 

**Barn.**

 

Daryl was pacing the short length of the room, his excitement growing exponentially with each passing moment.  The barn. It was perfect. The last stop before Alexandria so many years ago. And the only people who knew of it were his trusted few.

 

_ Click static static, click click click click, click, static click. _

 

**When?**

 

Daryl didn’t want to keep this conversation going for fear someone should find them out.  This much strange activity across the radios would be cause for question.

 

Rick’s response came quick.

 

_ Click click static static static, static click click. _

 

**2 D.**

 

Two days.

 

That was perfect. Enough time to throw his pack together, and set out on foot.  He couldn’t leave without telling at least one person. Aaron. He knew of the location, and heaven forbid Daryl didn’t return soon, he’d know where to go to find them.  It was well past dark and most of the compound had surely gone to bed but Daryl didn’t care. He filled his pack with the necessary supplies, and went to Aaron’s room. He found him in bed, reading a novel by candlelight, clearly ready to turn in for the night.

 

“What’s wrong?” Aaron asked, throwing back the sheets ready to pull on his boots and go where he was needed.

 

“Shh, it’s fine.  Lower your voice. I gotta go, but I’ll be back in a week. If not… come find me at the barn.  You remember?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Aaron responded quizzically, laying back against the soft pillows. “May I ask why?”

 

Daryl didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, but he trusted Aaron. 

 

“I’m going to get Rick, he’s alive.”

 


End file.
